


Veela

by Roselightfairy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bill is a good ally, F/M, Gen, I love Fleur a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 19:03:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12754314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roselightfairy/pseuds/Roselightfairy
Summary: Fleur Delacour is beautiful. But that's not all she is.





	Veela

**Author's Note:**

> An homage, because Fleur Delacour is one of the most underappreciated amazing characters in Harry Potter.

Fleur Delacour has a very complicated relationship with the way she looks.

On the whole, she’s glad to be so attractive, glad to have the aura of beauty that surrounds her.  It is a tool, and one for which she finds plenty of use.  It gets her places she needs to be; it melts men (and sometimes women), makes them ductile and soft, easy to wrap around her fingers.  It gets her attention, where she might otherwise fade into the shadows; it gets her admiration, and gives her the confidence to speak where she might otherwise be silent.

But as empowered as she sometimes feels, knowing that with a smile and a toss of the hair she can have all that she wants, her beauty is a curse, too.

And not because it draws resentment, not because women less secure in their appearances hate her for the threat she poses, for the fact that their boyfriends’ eyes wander to Fleur when she passes.  That is not Fleur’s problem – if these men are fickle enough to turn away from those who love them merely for a chance at a mysterious beauty, the women are better off without.  And if these people are so insecure in their own looks that the sight of a beautiful woman can put them off, then the problems that they need to work out are their own.

But as often as her beauty gives her the confidence to speak up, to fill a room, to take up space, it can so often take away the impact of what she has to say.

During the Triwizard Tournament, she is genuinely grateful that all the others competing are just as famous or noticeable as she, for whatever reason.  It means that the newspapers won’t focus exclusively on her, using her beauty as the hook to write articles with little substance.  But when Harry Potter is another of the champions, the newspapers choose instead to completely blank her out.

She doesn’t want to be the only spotlight, but she doesn’t want to be shunted to the side, either.

Although she decides after the tournament that she wants to return to Britain, she needs to at least go home for a few weeks, to pack her things and spend some time with her family.  All the Wizarding newspapers in her area want to interview her – after all, she has become a celebrity.  She is a champion, star student of Beauxbatons who represented her school in the Triwizard Tournament –

“And would you mind telling us a bit more about your family history?” asks the reporter, scribbling away on his notepad without breaking eye contact with her.  He has that dazed smile plastered over his face that so many heterosexual men do when talking to her.

“I suppose you mean my grandmother?” she replies bluntly, not feeling the need to be polite.  He is the third person to try to write an article on her and focus exclusively on her appearance, her sense of style, the veela blood in her veins.  She is beginning to tire of these reporters and their lack of originality.

His smile doesn’t even slip.  “You are part veela, are you not?”

“And may I ask what that has to do with my competence as a Triwizard champion?” she challenges, giving him the most haughty look she can manage.

“Of course,” he says, seeming to try for a reassuring smile that looks nothing less than predatory, “of course you were perfectly qualified to compete for your school; I’m certain that no one as dazzling as you” –

“I would have been just as competent if I had no veela blood in my family!” interrupts Fleur, letting her irritation bleed into her tone.  “Why are you interested in my looks above my accomplishments?”

“Oh, of course I am interested in your accomplishments.”  He doesn’t even break stride in his note-taking.  “I just thought we’d take a slightly different angle” –

She plucks the quill out of his hands and snaps it in half.  “And I suppose by ‘different’ you mean the exact angle that the last two newspapers took?”  She shakes her head, not even feeling guilty about destroying his property.  “Contrary to your beliefs, this does not make for an interesting story; nor does it give me any desire to finish this interview.  Good day to you.”

Shortly after this disaster of an interview, she leaves France – has been wanting to return to Britain since before she left it – and starts to look for jobs.  She got top scores in her exams at Beauxbatons; she’s reasonably certain that she can secure a good position somewhere, halting English notwithstanding.

When she interviews for a position at Gringotts, she speaks as clearly as she can, stands tall and proud, and answers all of the questions easily.  The man who is to become her superior slides his gaze up and down her body as she speaks.  He interrupts her in the middle of a sentence, ten minutes into the interview, to offer her the job.  When she leaves his office, he tosses a wink in her direction and says he’s sure she’ll brighten up the workplace every day.

She stalks out angrily, huffing under her breath at the fact that even here her beauty will always be the most important thing about her.  But she wants the job and knows that she’s qualified for it, whether or not her interviewer knows that.  So she accepts it and enjoys it despite the superficiality of her acceptance.

Every day, when she works, she is reminded of this shallowness.  Gazes fall upon her; men (and a few women, although Fleur assumes they have more sense than the men) are tongue-tied at the sight of her, and they don’t even dare to ask her to go out – probably assuming just at one look that she will say no.  And she rolls her eyes at how her beauty seems to drain everyone else of confidence – or give them the wrong impression of her – without her saying a word.

She likes the way she looks.  She likes her hair, her eyes, her face, her body.  She wouldn’t relinquish it, because the veela blood that runs through her veins is a part of her.  It gives her her beauty, but more than that it gives her strength, confidence, charm, and determination.  She does not wish to change herself – she just wishes that the world would look on her a little differently.

After a few days at work, she starts to become intrigued by one man – the lanky redhead with the freckles and the easygoing grin.  At first glance she wonders how he ended up here – the snake-fang earring and the ponytail suggest a rebel, someone who would have dropped out of school – but she soon learns that he’s incredibly intelligent.  Not only did he get top marks on his exams, but he’s also one of the most skilled and competent curse-breakers at Gringotts.

When she realizes that her first impression of him was all wrong, she starts to feel like a hypocrite; for all she hates those who judge her appearance, she needs to be reminded not to do the same to others.  And she’s even more interested in Bill Weasley because he doesn’t seem to do so.

After about a week and a half at work, they end up on an assignment together.  She smiles at him, and is shockingly relieved when he doesn’t look dazzled.  She greets him tentatively, and that segues into the smoothest conversation she’s had since – well, since before the Tournament.  He isn’t shy to correct her when she says a word wrong, but he does it with so much patience and such a broad smile that she doesn’t feel offended at all.  In fact, she feels like she’s actually learning more English when she speaks with him than she did even in her classes.

Before she knows it, they’ve made arrangements to meet for an English lesson the next week.  Which turns into another extra lesson, which turns into another – which eventually just turns into dinner, at a table for two, at a little restaurant outside his flat.

The waiter serving them makes excuses to come to their table over and over again, staring blatantly at Fleur and disregarding Bill.  She feels her patience running shorter and shorter, and when he starts calling her “beautiful” she’s about to snap – but then Bill speaks up.   
“Excuse me,” he says politely to the waiter, “but you really don’t have the right to call her that.”

These words make her raise her eyebrows – because she’s had enough boys try to possess her that she worries that Bill is about to make a comment about how men shouldn’t make passes at other men’s girls, which _he_ doesn’t have the right to say, considering he doesn’t own her either –

The waiter opens his mouth to say something, but Bill continues.  “It’s a bit intrusive to refer to someone you don’t know as ‘beautiful.’  It takes away from their personal worth and reduces them to just how they look, which isn’t fair to them at all.”

The waiter blushes and backs away, and Fleur stares at Bill with her mouth open, not even paying attention to the other man’s retreat.

He shrugs; his ears redden a little.  “Sorry,” he mutters, “if that was . . . if you didn’t want me to say that.  I just . . . he was making me angry, and you’re” –

“You,” she says, “are the first man whom I have ever heard say anything of the like.”

He lowers his eyes.  “Wow,” he says, “that doesn’t reflect very well on us men at all, does it?”

She smiles slightly, making sure to enunciate her words clearly.  “It reflects very well on you, Bill.”

His ears go redder and his shoulders hunch.  “Well, thank you, I guess.”  He looks up at her; for the first time since she’s met him he looks almost shy.  “I mean, you are beautiful, Fleur, but that’s nowhere near the most important part about you.”

She smiles, touched by his sincerity.

“I’ve actually” – his hands are twisting together now – “I’ve never had more interesting conversation with someone I’ve known for as little time as I have you.  I’ve never felt such a connection with someone.”

She reaches out across the table and places her hand on his tangled ones, stilling their motion.  “I feel the same way,” she says.  “I feel very . . .” She fumbles for the word, cursing her limited English, “. . . respected by you, Bill.”  She hesitates, but continues to speak, trying to make the words come out in the right order.  “I always have . . . I know that I am good-looking, but sometimes I think that is the only part of me that people accept.  But you see more than that.”

He separates his hands from one another, and flips the left one over to lace his fingers with hers.  “I do,” he says softly.  “I see a lot of good in you, Fleur.”

She holds his gaze across the table, and his eyes don’t stray from hers.  “I see a lot of good in you, too.”

When they leave the restaurant (the furiously-red waiter switched places with a woman who gave both Fleur and Bill the same polite, neutral smile), Fleur reaches over and takes Bill’s hand.  It’s nice, she thinks, to take the initiative in a relationship.  It makes her feel powerful – as though it’s not only her beauty that gives her strength.

It feels so good that she initiates the kiss when they reach the door of her flat, cupping Bill’s face and bringing her lips to his.  He responds instantly, but still cautious – letting her set the boundaries, letting her decide.

She likes the feeling of that, too.  More than that, she likes _him_.

His family, though, is another matter.

He asks her to marry him on the one-year anniversary of their first kiss.  He takes the initiative here, and once she meets his family she understands that they are more the traditional sort.  Even more traditional than the family, though, are the reactions its members have to Fleur’s presence.

The two women – his mother and his younger sister, Ginny – treat her with hostility.  She doesn’t understand what they have to be jealous about: Mrs. Weasley (she hasn’t invited Fleur to call her Molly, and Fleur will respect that) has a loving, stable relationship with her husband and her children, and an inner strength that Fleur has never seen in anyone; Ginny is as beautiful a fifteen-year-old as Fleur has ever known, and is witty and outgoing on top of that.

Ron, the only one of Bill’s brothers currently living in the house, is dazed and overwhelmed by her presence.  He reacts exactly the way far too many boys have to her – exactly the way his brother never has.  It is exhausting, and she sometimes wonders if it drains her even more than the women’s hostility.

When Ron’s friends Hermione and Harry come to stay, Fleur is excited at first for the change . . . and then disappointed.  Harry at least she likes – she will never forget that he saved her sister when she could not, and she will owe him forever for it.  He treats her neutrally, with the same sort of awkward politeness he always has.  Which, under the circumstances, is exactly what Fleur needs.

But Hermione . . . she joins the ranks of Ginny and her mother, all three treating Fleur with unnecessary coldness and mocking her behind her back.  (It’s not as though they even really try to hide it; they _want_ her to know)

It is both frustrating and bewildering – because these women have power in abundance, power and fulfillment in their lives, and yet they do not seem content in it.  They create a caricature of Fleur, draining her (in their minds) of her strength and self-empowerment.  They reduce her in their minds to her beauty, and imagine that she has nothing else of worth because of it.

But they are wrong.

They are wrong when they think that she is shallow and weak.  It takes all the strength she has to bear up under their abuse, to eat at their table, to talk to them.  It would be enough to chase away a lesser woman than her – but she will not be run off.  She loves Bill enough to keep trying with them, and she is strong enough that she will not – _cannot_ – back down from a challenge.

So she stays.

She stays with them, she keeps trying.  Because she knows how much Bill loves his family, she knows how much it means to him that she get along with them – and because she refuses to bend under them.  She refuses to let their failure to acknowledge their own strength interfere with her perceptions of herself.  Her beauty may have been the gateway to her own self-confidence, but she knows that she is more than that.  She is strong, she is confident, and she is _worthy._

Sometimes it hurts.  Sometimes she curses her beauty because so many people let their feelings about it color their perceptions of her – be that desire or insecurity.  It makes it easy for people to reduce her to a shadow, a cardboard cutout.  But she is more than that – so much more – and she will never allow herself to forget that.


End file.
